


Savior

by littlemissravenclaws



Series: Like Father like Daughter [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cussing, Dad!Dean, Foster Care, I mean really, Other, Past Abuse, Regular supernatural junk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemissravenclaws/pseuds/littlemissravenclaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not giving a shit was great, it gave me so much power to do whatever the fuck I wanted in class and otherwise, and became my soul purpose in life around twelve, when I realized no one gave a flying-fuck about me. Except maybe Cas, I think he cares a little bit.<br/>------<br/>Dean has a seventeen year old daughter that he knows nothing about, until one day when Cas decides to let Dean in on the secret. Problem is, rough around the edges Sarah has been jumping from foster home to foster home since she could remember; and as the worlds fate once again falls into the hands of the Winchesters, will family ties prove to be enough to save them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Just a dream.

No, not a dream, a living, walking, breathing nightmare. A living nightmare that was Sarah’s life, a nightmare that had left her with no last name, no family, and in a life that she felt utterly trapped in, with no one to love and no love in return, a black pitfall of human existence. Those were the only constants in Sarah's life, "Profound suffering," as Cas had put it, and Cas, he case worker.  
Her last name was a personal choice, on account of the fact that she had decided when she was rather young and foolish that daughters should have their fathers last name, as tradition usually holds it, and since her mother had died giving birth to her and her father wasn't listed on the birth certificate, no one could tell her otherwise if it was right or wrong. So her legal name became Sarah X, ready to be changed when she was adopted, although she had given up hope long ago in an abusive home far-far-away, and for some strange reason, Sarah held this as one of her core values. And it was this fact alone that had left Sarah no-last-name so incredibly filled with anger, because even if her father was out there somewhere, and her tiny glimmer of a hope at having an escape from this hell she was living became a reality, he wasn't listed on the birth certificate and was a) damn near impossible to find and b) had no binding responsibility for her. For him, if he was still out there, there were no repercussions. It would be the easiest thing in the world for him to just walk in, look at the broken mess of a daughter that the paternity test told him was his, if it even went that far through the system and even those can’t be trusted, and decide he wanted no part of it. He could just say no and that would be it. He had the power to rescue her, to be her light in the suffocating blackness around her, and she was afraid he would slam that door in her face the second it had opened.  
That’s where the anger sprouted inside of her, not from her weekly mandated meetings with her child protective services representative, Cas, who she sardonically began viewing as her own guardian angel. Nor did the anger sprout from the copious amounts of abuse she endured on a daily basis, whether physical, mental, or sexual, abuse was abuse to Sarah, and she had gotten so accustomed to it, she wouldn't know what to do if it wasn't being thrown her way. No, her anger came from her lack of knowledge.It stemmed from not knowing who her father was, for one. Was he a stand-up guy or a criminal, and what if it was possible he was both? Of not knowing where he was and why he was out there in the world and what he was doing in it, possibly saving it, and not saving her from her shitty life, of being that possibility of salvation in her eternal damnation of a life, and what, she always asked, was more important than his own daughter. More than the anger, however, was the slight fear that was always nagging at the back of her mind. Fear that she wouldn't be saved because, maybe he just didn't know she was out there, or worse, he didn't give a flying-fuck. Maybe, just maybe, he didn't know he had a daughter, or he was in a position that he couldn't save her, didn't want to, or the worst yet, he knew but he ignored that fact because, what was an illegitimate child to him other than a mistake? What was Sarah to this mysterious, elusive father, other than dirt on his nose, a mistake he’s leaving in the past? Nothing. He didn't want her. No one did. This was Sarah’s truth in the whirlwind of lies that spilled from her lips.

I’m fine.

It was a fight.

No one wants me.

I am worthless.

She was nothing to this stranger of a father, just like she was nothing to every family she had ever lived with, just dirt on the bottom of their shoes. When she had reached this epiphany, she knew that she didn't need to be saved. She would find a way out and she would be the hero of her own story, because it was clear that no one was saving her. Her only saving grace was that her eighteenth birthday was less than a year away, and then she would be out, out of the system and free to live her own life, no more abuse, no one to live for but herself. Her eighteenth birthday meant that she would be legally responsible for herself, of course, but it was the only ray of light in the roiling black smoke that surrounded everything around her. That is, if she made it to her deadline.

Yet despite the abuse and the anger and fear and that voice in the back of her head that told her she would never be enough and in spite of all of her shortcomings, she had believed that her life would improve a year ago when child services placed her in the “care” of the Wilson's, they being the family she had spent the most time with during her foster care escapades. She had thought the Wilson's were different, and now she knew better.  
The Wilson's were normal enough, Mr.Wilson was an orthodontist, and Mrs. was a soccer mom, attending every event her children were involved in. They bought Sarah her first car, I suppose they wanted her to feel like she was their own child, and there was no better way to show that in Mrs. Wilson's book than by a new wardrobe, and a brand new car and drivers license in Mr. Wilson's, all picked out by Sarah herself of course. That's the not-so-long story of how Sarah came into possession of a car that may or may not have played a great deal into Sarah's fate, but it was just a car, car's can't change much, can they?  
Anne was the Wilson's daughter, and nothing screamed all American teen more than cheerleader Anne with her red hair, blue eyes, perfect grades, and nice personality. It was like no one ever told Anne that she couldn't be pretty and smart and successful and nice and have a banging body, she had to choose one to make it fair for the girls like Sarah who had so many scars, physical and psychological, that they didn't know where they had collected them, like they had just collected on her skin like she was a walking stamp collection. Still at the beginning Anne had treated Sarah like her sister, sharing her clothes and gossiping like there was no tomorrow, even though Sarah had insisted that gossip was a fools sport, to which Anne replied with “We’re both seventeen, gossip is what we live on,” and Sarah had felt so accepted for the first time in her life, so she didn't bother protesting any further.  
Tommy was Anne’s older brother, who went to the University of Georgia in Athens, Georgia on a full ride football scholarship, the campus was, in Sarah's opinion, annoyingly close to the Wilson's house. This, of course, meant that he was around plenty to antagonize everyone, Sarah especially. Tommy was the only Wilson or person in all honesty, who still treated Sarah like an actual human being, and she equated it to him not being around his parents influence, and even though she hated to admit it, she would be upset when he turned on her. She would miss the way Tommy could squeeze a smile out of her, if he really tried, and the way he did things for her, like show her what to fix on her car when it was acting up, and even big things, like giving her his old iPod loaded with all of his favorite songs. It was Tommy she would miss most of all out of the Wilson's I mean, it was only a matter of time before he flipped the switch too, followed his family’s lead and what-not, started treating Sarah like shit.  
That’s exactly how it had happened, though, one day the Wilson's were treating Sarah like their own, and the next day she woke up to Anne ripping and tearing her new clothes to pieces, and when she went downstairs to tell Mrs. Wilson, assuming she would be mad at Anne for ripping apart the clothes she had just spent hard earned money on for Sarah, who wasn't even her child, she just gave her this twisted smile and said “Well, Its not like a filthy animal like you deserves such nice things anyway,” and then added over her shoulder “But you can keep the car, I don’t want you stinking mine up” before walking out of the door, her spawn following close behind fully decked in cheer garb. Examining the remains of her clothes and coming to terms with the fact that she would be late for school, again, Sarah realized that Anne had left a grey cable knit sweater, two pairs of jeans, all of her Army surplus clothing, including combat boots and jacket, as well as her favorite band tees completely unscathed, almost as if Anne knew when to stop. And although her diminished wardrobe was still an improvement on the bundle of rags she had showed up with hastily stuffed in the bottom of her rucksack, alongside her favorite books and a weird talisman necklace Cas had given her years ago, telling her it would one day be of importance, Sarah couldn't stop herself from feeling the despair slowly seeping back into her bones and leaving her cold, because she knew in that moment. She knew that the Wilson's were just like every other family she had ever been forced into, only they were worse.

They were worse because they had made Sarah feel accepted, made her feel at home and made her think, for just a moment, that she could have people in the world who would actually care about her. They made her feel loved, only to turn around and show that they were just as ugly as every other family, that no one would ever care or love for Sarah as long as she lived. They gave her hope and then ripped it away, left Sarah staggering after what she thought she had. She often sat in her room wondering how people like the Wilson's, who didn't seem capable of such evilness, could just turn on her. Then she realized one night, after Mr.Wilson had taken his anger at losing a round of golf out on her with his driver, that it wasn't the Wilson's. No, as long as Sarah lived, no one would love her or care for her, and no one would ever show her a hint of kindness. It was in those moments Sarah spent completely alone in her room when she realized, no matter how much she wished it wasn't true, if the apparition of her real father was still out there, he wouldn't want her because nobody else did. It was in those moments that she gave up all hope and started praying for her eighteenth birthday, forcing herself to survive until then.  
A year, Sarah told herself as she brought herself back to the present, managing to pull herself onto her feet, ignoring the bruises on her back and shoulders and knees and elbows and stomach and skull and ribs and everywhere and got dressed for another day of school, her hell away from hell. A year and I’ll be out. A year and I can leave. A year and I can be whatever I want to be, and do whatever I want to do. A year and my life is mine to decide. A year and I’m free. If only she had made it a year. If only she had the chance to escape what fate was coming for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just my set up for the fic, introducing the character of Sarah and giving some background, WHat do you guys think will happen with Sarah? Lemme know!


	2. Nothin' but a Good Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens during Sarah's case work meeting just may change her fate, and the question stands; will she make it to her forty day freedom?

I rolled into school an entire hour late, stopping to buy some breakfast from the oh-so-healthy McD's, and fill up my car with gas, using the money I had stolen from the Bastards wallet, the Bastard being Mr. Wilson, my foster dad. Despite their shortcomings of, you know, abuse and being general sons of bitches, the Wilson's were decent people. Meaning they never confronted me about the money, and quite frequently credit cards, that I took from their possession. I don’t even think they knew to be honest, not that I necessarily cared, those fuckers had it coming. I was glad Tommy was on a full-ride, because if they were paying for his college I might not have stolen money from them. Ever.

I sat in my car for another forty minutes, my back propped against the dusty driver side door and my feet perched atop the crackled leather front bench seat, finishing my soggy egg McGriddle as the rumble from the engine of my baby, a sleek black 1971 two-door t-bird whom I had named Jesse, perforated my thoughts, intertwined with Aerosmith's “Walk this Way.” I had just finished my egg McGriddle, tossed the wrapper out the open window behind me, and was starting in on my coffee and hash-brown, when I heard someone tapping on my passenger window. Turning around I saw a familiar face peering in at me through my nicotine coated passenger window with less worry and concern than she used to show, and more of an ‘I should have known better’ expression gracing her features.

As I, manually,rolled down the window, bent in half might I add, I greeted her with my usual “Morning Kelly.”

“Sarah,” she responded, her arms across her chest as she stooped to peer through the passenger window, “I have told you I don’t know how many times, please refer to me as-“

“Principal whatever-your-last-name-is, I know,” I retorted, downing my coffee and throwing the cup out of the window followed by the crumpled hash-brown wrapper, earning me a disapproving snort from Kelly, which was nothing compared to the glare I received when I lit my second or third cigarette of the day, I never really took note of how many I smoked in a day only when I needed to restock, and taking a drag, I blew the smoke out of the driver side window. Three cigs down, pretty damn impressive for nine thirty in the morning. Sometimes I didn't like that I was so rude to Kelly, but I kinda figured that at this point there was no use fighting it. It was as if going against what authority figures told me to do, or expected of me even, had been beaten into me, pardon the pun, and at times it even seemed that it was just part of my genetic makeup. My dad probably has the same problems, I thought to myself, allowing a small smile to escape my lips as I took another drag from my cigarette and continued to stare down Kelly, refusing to correct my thoughts.

Rolling her eyes in defeat, or maybe just in resignation, I never could tell the difference in other people, she continued, “Well Sarah, if you would care to accompany me your case worker, Castiel, is here for your weekly meeting.”

At this, my face almost broke out into a genuine smile, ahh Cas, but instead a harsh laugh, a sarcastic snort, escaped my lips as I flicked my ash out of the window behind me and continued smoking, speaking through the smoke and music and rumble of the engine I found the words, “Yeah, I know who my case worker is, thanks for re-informing me though,” escape my mouth. Rule number one; never let them see anything you hold dear, or how happy something makes you. Feigning an ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude is better than giving a shit and then having that shit ripped away from you. I learned that when I was eight. Taking the last drag of my cigarette and flicking it out the window I continued, “I think I’ll just go to class though,” and flipped through the songs on my mix-tape CD until I reached “Come together,” making no move towards my math class, which I was undoubtedly failing due to my grand total of two weeks appearances in that class out of nine weeks at this damned school. I don’t care who you are, math should be illegal, and that’s coming from a girl who has seen a million criminal acts, and even committed a few of her own.

To my surprise though, Kelly actually started laughing, genuine laughing. Well, chuckling more likely, but she soon shook it off and hands-on-hips stated “We both know that’s not true,” and standing up from her stooped position she ordered, “You can either come with me to your case meeting, or I’ll give you detention. Again.”

Rolling my eyes, and the windows, upwards, manually for the windows due to the fact that my baby was older than I was, and turned the key, listening as the comforting purr of the engine died away, and as I hoisted my nearly empty, faded, army green rucksack from the passenger floorboard onto my shoulder I climbed out of my car, locking it behind me, I resigned myself to following Mrs. Thompson across the parking lot.

“Don’t you think the threat of detention is kind of, oh I don’t know, redundant at this point,” I reckoned, the crunch of gravel beneath my sturdy army surplus combat boots, army surplus and band t-shirts being the entirety of my wardrobe, comforting in the silence that hung heavy in the air, broken only by Kelly and I’s exchanges. I looked over towards the menacing brick building of Clarke Central High School, my liberating prison for the next forty days, and saw kids from all walks of life look out the windows and glare at me as if I was, well we've been over this, dirt, shit nothing. Same old story, same old song and dance. When it comes to people, they all seem to have a less than favorable opinion of me, all of them except Tommy for some back ass-wards reason, not like I've ever done anything to them. Of course, my general rudeness and dick-ish behavior isn't going to win me those homecoming votes.

Rather than responding to my comment, however, Kelly decided to point out my grammar by saying, “You know Sarah, with your vocabulary you would think that your grades would be higher than they are.”

“Yeah, you would think,” I responded as we crossed the threshold that was the double doors in the front of Clarke Central High school and made our way to Kelly’s office, where I could see a friendly tan trench coat waiting for me, and I silently decided not to add 'higher than I am most of the time.' Cas days were not days to piss Kelly off.

Kelly opened the door for me and started, “I’ll leave you guys alone-“

“As usual,” I interrupted, just because I could.

“And remember, you have an hour.” When she finished her sentence, rubbing at the bridge of her nose as she spoke, not even bothering to point like she used to, I mock curtsied, a look of complete mockery on my face, and then strutted to her desk as if it were my own, which it might as well have been, I'd picked the locks enough to know exactly what was in every single drawer. The door swung shut behind me and we were alone.

I dropped my bag to the ground and threw myself into Kelly’s chair, propping my feet up on the desk and proceeding to make a mess of her post-it pop-up notes.

“Well, well, well, alone at last,” I chuckled. Better to let them see you not care, I reminded myself.

“Hello, Sarah,” Cas said in his usual monotone, his appearance ruffled as usual, as if he never slept and had never been sober a day in his life. If his attitude wasn't so sobering though, I would believe he was some poor bastard who had been laid off at work and not my case worker. Out of habit he knew I wouldn't say a proper hello, and continued, “I see you have not changed since I last saw you.”

“It’s been a week Cas,” I replied, springing the post-its back and forth, my eyes intent on the green 3 inch by 3 inch squares. “How much can I change in a week?”

“Well,” he responded as if what he were about to explain was absolute and final truth, still standing stock still in the middle of the room, a soldier at attention, “God created the universe in one week.”

“Still have that religious stick up your ass, huh, buddy,” I retorted, making eye contact for the first time since I stepped foot in the office in which we met almost weekly, and shot him a sarcastic grin. I say almost weekly because there was a time, a while back when I didn't see Cas for nearly a month or two, maybe three, but that’s neither here nor there, what he does in his personal time is none of my business. Until it infringes on my time and makes those weeks the darkest I had ever seen, then it becomes my business one hundred percent. To be honest I was a little shocked a month ago when Kelly told me Cas was back from whatever the hell had dragged him away from me for an entire year, leaving me with the ever-worsening Wilsons.

“Yes,” he replied, coming as close to rolling his eyes as Cas ever does, which looked more like looking off to the side and swaying slightly, “It would seem that I do, indeed, have a religious stick in my ass, as you put it.”

At his complete lack of social skills I had to stop myself from laughing, because if there was one person in this world I didn't want to offend, that person was Cas. I couldn't place my finger on it but he really had a, ‘cross me even once and I’ll smite you,’ kind of air about him. I barely had time to even formulate a response when Cas barreled on in his breathless monologue, ‘So, Sarah, I do remember that we have been talking about your biological father recently-“

“Yeah, Cas,” I interrupted, chewing on some gum I found in Kelly’s desk, and assuming my 'that-door-is-fucking-closed-don't-open-it' tone monotonously repeated for the millionth time, “We had been talking about him, and if you remember anything we had talked about you will remember that I don’t want to talk about it. I don't want to meet him. Tender subject Cas, leave it be.” He wouldn't.

“Sarah, I realize that you have,” at this he paused, which he had a habit of doing, almost as if he was searching for the proper English translation of a long lost archaic language that predated linguistics, but maybe he was just slow, “Reservations about your biological father-“

“Not just reservations Cas,” I interrupted again, as I almost exclusively do when conversing with a person, it's a gift really, “I don’t want you looking for someone who may not be out there. I don’t want you to find them, only for them to have no interest. I don’t want-“

This time Cas was the one interrupting me, “To get your hopes uplifted?”

There was a pause in which he was just sitting there looking at me, and when I realized it wasn't a copyright Cas pause I responded with a defeated sigh, shrugging my shoulders as if he should have known this from the beginning, “Yeah. But look, it doesn't matter because he isn't out there okay? He isn't alive and he wouldn't want me, so drop it.” I had to remind myself not to care as tears threatened the backs of my eyes.

“He’s alive.” was all Cas said, and in the ensuing silence I stared at him, not daring to believe him. Not daring to believe that any father out there would want me, scars and all. Not daring to believe his words or the impossible hopes rushing through my brain at the speed of light. Of course, Cas had just said he was out there, not that he would want me or anything. Just that he was alive, that was all. Nothing. More. Cas, thankfully, continued, “I know him on a,” another pause for translation, “more personal level than I would like to admit,” at this I raised and eyebrow at him but kept quiet. There was a world of implications in that statement, none of which I cared to address, I'd save that for later. And if he knew my father on a personal basis, then maybe he had known him my whole life and ignored it, or maybe that's what he was doing this past year.

Thing is, it’s pretty standard for case workers to try and find information on their cases parents, if there was permission in their file for them to do so at any given point. What wasn't standard, however, was for case workers to find information on the child’s parents when there was no information on any existing parents, let alone without the child’s consent and no written permission. In a week or so I would look back and realize how stupid I was to not catch all of the little signs around me that pointed one way, but that was a story for later. I was just a foster kid, I didn't know how the system worked, I just knew that for case workers to follow the child around from foster home to foster home, as Cas had done with me, was highly unusual. I also had the feeling Cas had the same respect for rules that I did, and that he made them up as he went, and anybody who dared change them would have him to answer to as the highest authority. Usually, though, it was new foster home, new case worker, yet Cas had been with me since I was ten and through more homes than I cared to count, almost as if he was protecting me from something. In the beginning it did kind of feel like he was saving me for something rather than acting as my own personal shield. Cas was always ripping me out of perdition, perdition being my current foster family, before it had a chance to kill me. I knew that I probably owed Cas my life for delivering me from one hell, battered and bruised, to another hell in which they gave me just enough time to recover before the abuse began again, almost as if the hell was following me, but needed time to catch up. I refused to acknowledge it though, because he hadn't actively saved my life in a swishing cape and skin hugging tights manner yet, so clearly it didn't count. Because if it counted, then I owed Cas, and I couldn't afford to owe anyone.

“We have talked and he will be here in three days,” he stated matter of fact, then adding as an afterthought and seemingly only out of courtesy, “That is, if you want to meet him.” The last bit lead me to believe that they hadn't actually talked about it at all, yet I knew that if either one of us, my father or I, did anything remotely close to asking, Cas would make it happen. Hell, I was sure he was going to make this meeting happen whether we asked him to or not.

“And what if I don’t,” I retorted, crossing my arms and snapping my gum, well Kelly's gum, I had a feeling she wouldn't wan it back though, meeting Castiel’s stare with a glare that could rival his on a good day. Because in all honesty, I didn't want to meet him, and it was less about a feeling of dread that had sprouted in me so much as I was worried. What if Cas is getting my hopes up? What if he doesn't want me? Its not even a what if, I reminded myself, you know he won’t want you. No one does. This is your life. This is what you have accepted.

“Well,” Castiel responded, turning to the windows, which just led out into the hallway, “He will be here in three days time whether you want to see him or not, he has some business to attend to-“

“And what exactly,” I interrupted, my glare holding, “Is this business of his?”

“Your father is a bit of a,” Another translation, “Savior is the closest word I can think of to what he does.”

“He’s a fucking Jehovah’s witness isn't he?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, my brash cackles filling the office space with the velocity of a gunshot. “I’m sorry Cas,” I responded, trying to catch my breath, “but if he is a Jehovah’s witness then there is no way in hell I am ever wasting time on him.”

“Interesting phrasing,” was all he responded with, coming as close to smiling as he ever did, which resembled less a smile and more a baby pooping. “I’ll get you out of class,” he said after a long pause.

“Ah, my one weakness,” I responded, feigning a hand over my heart, complete with mock doe eyes.

“The human species has more vulnerabilities than just you enjoying being absent from your classes, Sarah.” He had missed the joke, again.

“Oh, I forgot,” I responded, placing my arms back at their crossed position, “You don’t speak sarcasm, let alone human being.” I sat and waited for Cas’ brain to click all of the pieces into place and make sense of my snide remark, but after a few minutes when it was clear he was still computing, I took pity on the poor bastard and standing up proclaimed, “You know what, get me out of class and take me to that Diner down by campus, you know the one with the cobbler and pie, and I’ll meet him.”

“You are certain,” he asked, his eyes as bright as I had ever seen them, his voice resembling something akin to hope, and more an order than a question. Good old Cas.

“You’re paying for the meal,” I responded as I walked towards the door, fishing my keys out of my pocket.

“That seems,” another pause in processing, “Reasonable. I will pass along the message.”

“Yeah, you do that Cas,” I responded as I strolled out of the office, and kept walking until I was at my car, turning on the engine and lighting a cigarette, Jesse purring to life beneath me as I switched over to “Nothin’ but a Good Time” by Poison, my ultimate ‘happy place’ song, and drove off, not wanting to be around people, and not wanting to face the reality of what I had just signed up for, leaving it all behind me as I drove, and hating myself for agreeing to do the one thing I had recently vowed I had no interest in.

And as I drove further on a directionless road, I was filled with the impending sense that I wouldn't make it to my eighteenth birthday. I wouldn't see the freedom I had yearned for ever since I could remember. I recognized the route I was on was taking me straight to Tommy's dorm building, and a smile threatened my lips. He told me when he moved into his dorm, when it was summer and everything was bright and sunny, that it was open to me if I ever wanted to swing by and talk, or needed to get out of the house, and there was no one in the world that I would rather talk about my recent discoveries with.

I wonder if it’s still too late to back out, I thought absently as I turned onto campus and flicked my cigarette butt out the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an:Hey guys, I got this update out SUPER fast, but I just wanted to say, please don’t expect updates this quick. In all honesty, I will probably never again update this fast, I just had nothing to do today. I apologize, It might be awhile until my next update, but graduation is coming up. until then, enjoy! leave a comment and lemme know what you think is going to happen next, and what you want to happen. Again, I am doing this with no beta, so please either correct my grammar or w/e (nicely please I dont want to feel like shit because I made grammatical errors) or even volunteer to be a beta. Thank you guys for reading this! It means a lot!


	3. TNT

"Cas," I grumbled, the engine of my '67 Impala growling as low as my voice, "We said no more secret keeping. So either you tell me what your keeping secret, or you can get out of my car." It was a loose threat, I knew that and so did Cas, but I also knew that Cas would comply to anything I asked for, if it was in his power of course. Which wasn't as much as it used to be, even though Sam repeatedly told me he would tear down civilizations for me. Right, because I could mean that much to someone.  
"Pull over Dean," was all I heard Cas say, and, figuring that he wasn't going to tell me his almighty secret, I followed orders. As usual.  
"Alright then," I said as the tires shifted onto the loose gravel of the shoulder, "Get out." I flung my arm towards the backseat passenger door, which was closest to him, and tried to assume my best "I don't give a damn," face.  
"Dean-" Cas started, making no move to exit the vehicle.  
"No, Cas," I interrupted, not really caring what he was going to say, but knowing that if I let him talk, even more than a sentence, I would let him stay in the car, inside the circle of trust. "We said no more secrets, and clearly you don't want to tell me." Maybe it wasn't fair, considering that I hadn't even let Cas speak more than a sentence, but I felt that I knew him better than most people, even more than I knew Sammy sometimes, and if he wasn't going to tell a secret, who was I to argue? Plus, I had been driving for the past six hours, and Sam was making me listen to the Bee-gees, which was aggravating as all hell.  
"Dean," Sam replied, flipping his puppy dog face on, "Maybe we should listen to him, you know, give him a chance."  
"Not fair," Was my only response, finger pointing and all, considering even Satan himself couldn't resist Sams pup-eyes, and he damn well knew it through experience. "Alright then," I turned towards Cas who was occupying the hump in the backseat, "Out with it."  
"Thank you," His response was directed at Sam, that asshole. I really needed to get over the fact that I wanted all of his attention, all of the time. Cas was an ex-angel, a status that had been awarded to him after he had crossed that Naomi bitch one too many times, and since he helped Metatron make all of the angels fall, himself included, we were awarded more time with him, and he was proving to be the most out of touch and aggravating human I had ever met, yet I still wanted all of his attention and focus. God Winchester, stop being a baby, I had to force myself to listen to the words coming out of Cas' mouth and not just the noises he was making. "You two know that I have been, absent for a few days, even weeks at a time recently."  
"What else is new Cas," I shot back, my face definitely not heating up when he looked my way. Just because he was an ex-angel didn't mean that his attendance had improved any.  
"I have been away visiting someone who I believe to be rather," a copyright Cas pause, "Important."  
"What do you mean important, Cas?" I shot, my eyes narrowing at his tone and its implications.  
"'Important'," Sam continued my thought, looking between Cas and I as he did so, "Can be anywhere between a standard case or the apocalypse."  
"Exactly," I seconded, "So on a scale of Crowley to family, how important are we talking here."  
"Family, Dean," Cas responded. His tone made me believe that we weren't talking about someone who was as important as family, but was actually flesh and bone, genetically related, family. At Sams exchanged look, I could tell he thought the same. Cas barreled on, "In fact, Dean, your child."  
At this I let out a laugh, which was more of a snort, in an effort to cover up how shocked I was, and I distantly registered Sammy switching from Bee-gees, and over to AC-DC's High Voltage album in an effort to save his ass as the situation got tense. "What do you mean my child, Cas? You think there is some kid out there, who is mine might I add, that I have no clue even exists?" I asked between nervous laughs, as I continued brushing this life changing information aside. It wasn't true, it couldn't be. I mean, I had slept with enough people sure, some I don't even remember, that it was completely possible for me to have an illegitimate child out there somewhere, I mean, I wasn't always mister careful, but to have family out there that I didn't even know about was, completely out of left field. If there was someone out there related to me, that I hadn't managed to get killed, then that meant that we weren't alone. That meant Sammy and I weren't the last of the Winchesters. I had to physically squash down my hope before it got out of hand, because that meant I had to leave him, my child, where he was so that he wouldn't get killed.  
"That is exactly what I mean," he responded, in typical Cas fashion, not giving any more information than what I asked him to give and bringing me out of my thoughts, again.  
I listened to the deafening silence fill the car, accompanied by my baby purring and AC-DC's "TNT" pumping from the speakers.  
"So, what?" My breath caught in my throat slightly, and still not believing it, I had to clear my throat before continuing, "you are saying there is some toddler running around that's mine?"  
"Not exactly, no," was Cas' response. Getting answers out of him when he didn't want to talk was harder than ganking Gabriel, that son-of-a-bitch.  
"Cas," my heart was racing, and I couldn't exactly pinpoint if it was nausea, nerves, or excitement, and I flat out ignored the fact that Cas looked more beautiful than ever because I wasn't even supposed to be thinking these things. What would dad say if he knew, Dean. I guess it was mostly hope though, and realization, and Cas. "What are you saying then? And why tell me about it, cant we just leave that snot nosed shit with his mom?" I couldn't help but realize that, once again, I had opened my mouth and Bobby came out. No, don't think of Bobby, bad idea Dean. If I did have a child though, then the best place for him would be with his mother, not in the backseat of this Impala like Sam and I, unable to leave motel rooms and living off of ramen noodles. That was a childhood I refused to pass on.  
"I'm saying," Another pause, I could tell Cas was pausing to give me time to prepare for the bombshell he was about to drop, not for translation, "That I have arranged for you to meet your daughter in two days time."  
"No," it was out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I didn't care if it was in response to what Cas was proposing, or if it was the only thing my mind could formulate at that time. I completely ignored the connections my mind was making, that for the past however many months, when Cas wasn't with us, he was looking for my daughter. He did this for me. I ignored the fact that I had a daughter, instead of a son. A son I could ignore with less guilt than I could a daughter, and part of me didn't want to believe that there was a little, female me stumbling around somewhere, not knowing that she wasn't with her biological father. She probably had a loving family, and I had no right to go in and fuck that up.  
"Dean," I heard Sammy say off to my right, his pleading tone evident. That shithead.  
I turned to him and stated, "No, Sam. Children mean mothers, and I can't deal with that batch of crazy," they both knew I meant that I didn't want to deal with an irrational mother who hated me for leaving her pregnant. Or even worse, an understanding one plus an angry boyfriend or husband, who may or may not be in the picture. Even if they didn't know, they should have figured it out. "I don't want to have to hide who I am to a small child again Sam," and even though it was half a cop-out answer, memories of Lisa and Ben started flooding my mind, and I had to push them into the back of my mind, something that was becoming easier and easier to do.  
"Dean," the pleading voice came from the back seat this time.  
"I said no Cas," I responded as I turned around and shifted gears, ready to head towards our next case. Cas could stay in the circle of trust, for now.  
"Dean," the voice came again, this time hard and demanding of my attention, "Her mother is," another pause, "no longer with us."  
At this my hand paused. I had a child out there, with no parents. I had a responsibility that I knew nothing about. I tried to stop the guilt from covering me like a blanket, but that's what happens with guilt, I had learned, it slips into every fiber of your being before you even have time to say I'm sorry, and then it pilots you around until you feel like the guilt is manageable. "She has no parents," was all I said in response, my voice lost in the rumble of the Impala.  
"Not true," Sam responded, those damn pup-eyes still in effect, his mouth turned upwards, "She still has you. Well, she doesn't know she has you, and she's never met you, but you are her biological parent and you aren't," Sam coughed, trying to clear his throat and formulate a normal sentence, "Well, you aren't dead."  
"She doesn't even know who I am, Sammy," I responded, defeat clear in my voice, they knew I would cave, she was family. You couldn't just ignore that. I shifted back onto the deserted road, ready to be done with this conversation and throw it in the backseat along with Cas and the fast-food wrappers, "And besides, we have a case anyway."  
"The case," I heard Cas grumble from behind me, "is in the town she is currently in." I suddenly knew why Cas had told us about this particular case. That scheming little shit.  
"What do you mean, 'currently in?' Is she some sort of runaway?" My sarcastic words were followed with a silent wish that that was not the case, and more silent curses thrown Cas' way for being a general ass-butt. I hoped, and I would never admit it, but I hoped that some nice family had taken her in and she would grow up with a normal life, far away from the chaos that had followed me around.  
"She has been placed in foster care, Dean," the voice coming from behind me was less comforting than it had ever been, and my hopes that she grew up normal, although still there, all but disappeared. Cas ignored my internal struggle though, and made it worse by adding, "She wants to meet you." Maybe he just didn't want me to say no.  
"She's in the system," the voice came from my right, filled with the compassion I could never understand, "Dean, we have to get her out. Find her a family, something." The worst part was, I knew they were right. I couldn't let her rot in the system, I had seen all too much of what had happened to kids in the system, and ninety percent of the time, they were chew toys for Crowley's demons, the system being infested with demons posing as foster parents. I was suddenly filled with dread that she could be with one of those families.  
We sat in silence for awhile, the minutes ticked by as we drove on, the black road stretching in front of me as my thoughts jumbled around one thing, the daughter I had no idea even existed.  
"You're buying me a pie," was my response, and I had hoped that they had forgotten our previous topic of conversation. When I pulled into a gas station to fill up an hour later, though, I could tell no one had forgotten.  
"I'll set up the meeting," Cas said as he and Sam climbed out, headed for the shack of a building that hosted the gas pumps I was pulled in next to. Sam went inside for food, while Cas drifted towards a worn-down payphone.  
"A daughter," I sighed, secretly hoping she would like me, hoping she wasn't like me. As I raised my flask to my lips, I couldn't help but wonder who she was. "Hell's broke loose in Georgia," I cursed as I hopped out and started filling up.  
\---  
Three days. Cas had said three days. Well, it was day three, and I was sitting in class, just like a good girl ought to, and there was no sign that I should have even put forth the effort to sit my ass down in a hard as-all-fuck desk, in a classroom that was stifling as all hell might I add, in this boring lecture on why Hamlet was basically the biggest asshole in history. I even made an effort to wear my cleanest clothes, Jeans and my Def Leppard tee, which were still horribly dirty with flecks of blood and who knows what else, and I even snuck into Anne's room after she had left to try and do something with my lack-luster, long brown hair. I ended up with some sort of wave, which was not much better than it's normal mess.  
"And why, Sarah," Mr. Crowley, my very English English teacher interrupted my chain of thought, "Did Hamlet decide to lie to Ophelia?"  
"He was an asshole," I responded lackadaisically, not really hearing the question, but figuring that calling someone an asshole was usually a good way to go, as I peered between my boots at his somewhat round and sweaty stature and higher-than-you-all air, which all teachers seemed to possess.  
"Language, Sarah, language," he reprimanded, shaking his cane at me.  
"Oh," I responded, my classmates tensed for whatever sarcasm would fly out of my mouth this time, "I was speaking English. No idea what you're speaking though." At the sight of Crowley's chagrined face, and the encouragement of my classmates snickers, I decided to continue my spiel, "Next time try taking the foreign out of your mouth, you know, that way I can understand what in hell you are saying," Everyone in the classroom burst out in laughter, not my intention, but I'll take it. In all honesty, nobody liked Crowley's pompous ass anyway, but none of them were brave enough to admit it. His personality was complete shit if you ask me, and I just relished in the opportunity to antagonize him.  
"Sarcasm is an idiots response," Crowley responded in his usual, you-are-an-idiot-and-I-will-prove-it-in-front-of-everybody tone, "Miss, oh wait," Crowley paused here, assuming an indignant tone, meaning he was about to make whoever he was talking at feel like complete shit, "I forgot, you have no last name. The unwanted child." He threw in a bit of mock pity on that last bit, the bastard.  
The class went silent at Crowley's words, some turning to look at me and see how I would respond, others looking away out of second-hand embarrassment. "And bullying, Crowley," I responded coolly, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt, "Is a cowards tactic." The tension in the air ignited, and the class audibly gasped. If there was one thing I wouldn't stand for, it was bullying.  
"Detention, Sarah," that was his response, as expected. That was his almighty threat, and truly the only power he, or any other teacher had over me. A power I frequently robbed them of, on account of I didn't give a royal shit. Come to think of it, all of my teachers, besides Crowley had given up within week two. I think Crowley just has a fondness for detention slips. I couldn't help but wonder how well those detention slips would work for him in hell.  
"Ooh, scary," Not giving a shit was great, it gave me so much power to do whatever the fuck I wanted in class and otherwise, and became my soul purpose in life around twelve, when I realized no one gave a flying-fuck about me. Except maybe Cas, I think he cares a little bit.  
"For a week," he punctuated, as he angrily scribbled on a detention slip, adding onto my sentence.  
"Is that all you got," I taunted, what can I say, defying authority figures was a hobby of mine.  
"That's another week," he growled, I swear he literally growled words when he was pissed, and he tore off the slip he was writing, set it aside, and began writing another.  
"You're a real pompous ass you know that," I replied, twirling a pen I had snatched off of the desk next to me, which was occupied by the stereotypical nerd that you find in every school. The term 'easy pickings' came to mind when I looked at him.  
"So I've been told," Crowley responded as he began writing another slip.  
A familiar face slipped through the door before he could finish writing the slips, stating "That won't be necessary Mr.Crowley," Kelly indicated the detention slips he was scribbling out, then turned towards me, "Sarah, could you come with me please?"  
"Well, I could," I responded, making no effort to move. Her eyebrows navigated dangerously high and I decided today was not the day to instigate Kelly. "I mean yes," I bent down and walked towards the door that Kelly was holding open, ignoring my classmates as I went, "Nothing would bring me greater joy than to follow you out into the illustrious hallway." Kelly rolled her eyes as I spoke, a grin threatening the edges of her lips, and when I passed over the threshold, out of the white-washed room whose only color was the black board in front of the room, I called behind me, "Laterz." I swear I could feel Crowley angrily boring holes in my back and sending me to the depths of his own little hell. Kelly didn't like him either, you could just tell.  
"Now, your case worker Cas informed me that you and him had made arrangements today to meet your birth father in that little diner close to campus," she let her voice trail off and side eyed me in the kindest sort of curiosity I had ever seen, letting her statement turn into a question. If there was one word I could use to describe Kelly, it would be Warm; from her brown eyes and honey-colored skin and shining brown hair, not to mention caring personality, she was warmth in the coldness of my reality. I honestly wanted to thank her for it, but had no idea where to begin, considering I was such a little shit to her and all, and she was merely a buoy in a churning ocean.  
"That's the plan," I responded, realizing she was leading me towards the front doors, my stomach turning at the thought of what lay ahead.  
We walked in silence for a few minutes and when we reached the double doors she hesitantly raised her hand, almost like she didn't know what to do with it, before patting me on the shoulder and stage whispering, "Have fun," before turning around and walking into her office, stopping only to look over her shoulder and say "I'm trusting you'll go straight to the diner," and at my affirming nod, disappeared from sight.  
I stood for a few moments staring at the double doors in front of me and wondering what laid on the other side of them, wondering how much today's events would change my life, or if they would affect it at all. Then I forced myself to stroll through those fateful doors and walk calmly to my car, before I got my hopes too high or convinced myself to walk back into class like nothing had happened.  
As I turned the engine and Jesse sprang to life beneath my fingertips, I felt my heart spring into my throat, ignoring the more than likely possibility that Cas would be at the restaurant sans biological father of mine. I lit up a cigarette and rolled out of the parking lot, nobody ever got anything done by sitting around on their asses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I had nothing to do today and I decided to pump out a few chapters. I might get one more out to you guys today, although please don't hold me to it! Also, please do not expect me to pump out updates this fast, it will probably never happen this quickly ever again in the history of existence, but I wanted to get a good foundation laid out for you guys before the next nine weeks, because I may not update for another month or two idk it depends on life. But yes, hope you enjoyed! Also, what do you think is going to happen with Dean and Sarah's meeting?


	4. Rock Rock (Til you drop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Dean meets his daughter, she's not exactly what he expected, and he's not what she expected either, and nothing goes according to plan.

I rolled into the diner's parking lot at two fifteen, shifted into park, the engine rumbling underneath me, and sat waiting, waiting, waiting, the CD changing from song to song mindlessly as I lit a cigarette and took a drag, trying to calm the nerves that I forced myself to believe weren't there. And why would they be? I was only meeting my biological father. I looked around the parking lot and realized that there were only two other cars, a 2010 blue Prius and a gorgeous 1967 Impala, and sitting in my car for a few minutes, I observed to see if anybody came in, or out, so I could figure out which car belonged to my father, that way I could pass judgement on him even faster, but no such luck. Yet if I was being truthful, I needed a minute to calm my nerves and gather the courage to walk into that diner because try as I might to ignore them, my nerves were threatening to send me into cardiac arrest because they were most definitely there. Less than a week ago I was set on never knowing who my father was and was content with living my life never knowing. Now it was here though and I realized that I would never be content with not knowing. Would never be alright. Would never be fine.

Although being fine was a stretch anyway.

I took a drag from my cigarette and came away coughing, not realizing that I had smoked down to the filter, and thanks to my lack of notice, I inhaled pure plastic. Great.

I decided I had procrastinated long enough and climbed out of my car whispering, "Wish me luck, Jesse." Swallowing, gulping, gasping, I turned towards the door and shoved my nerves as far away as they would go, which wasn't far let me tell you, and wondered what fate had in store for the, oh, I don't know, millionth time that day.

Walking into the diner I saw Cas situated in a far corner booth, all by himself. My heart dropped, my nerves died, and I'm pretty sure my face fell as well, but I will neither confirm nor deny any of this. Walking over to Cas I had to force myself not to cry, not like I did such trivial things as crying anyways, because he hadn't come.

He didn't want to visit me.

He didn't want to see me.

He didn't want to know his own daughter.

He didn’t want me.

I didn’t blame him.

And I knew he wouldn't want to come, but still I had hope. But then again.

Maybe I was just going to another family.

The worst of it, though, the worst is that I knew. I knew this would happen and yet I still let myself foolishly hope that he would show, only to have my hopes plummet away. I was no one and now it was just proven to me again.

Plopping down across from Cas I assumed my usual Devil-may-care attitude and sighed out, "I told you he wouldn't show Cas," propped myself against the window and slung my feet so they took up the rest of the booth.

"Actually," Cas responded, looking completely out of his element, well, for Cas anyway, which just amounted to a whole bunch of quarterback-trying-to-tell-his-dad-he's-gay-and-dating-the-tight-end awkward. "He did come. He is just in the bathroom." Cas paused as if he was trying to decide whether or not he wanted to tell me something, but then again, maybe it was just another computation, and then he decided to prolong this pause further by pulling out a piece of extremely smart, square plastic and punching it’s buttons. "He is in the bathroom-"

"Yeah, you already said that," I interrupted, picking up the salt shaker and making little salt hills in which I then formed into salt circles, forever assuming that I didn't give a royal shit, and trying to figure out who he could be texting as I settled down from my minor heart attack. Once again ignoring my nerves which had now hit an all-time high.

"With your uncle," Cas finished, completely ignoring anything I had said, or been doing.

"What," the salt hit the table with a loud plastic crack and I looked up so fast it made my head swim, my heart nearly stopping, but I had more important things to worry about than my possible concussion courtesy of  Pendejo, my foster father. "You said father Cas, not that it would be some Huxtable family reunion."

Luckily Cas was spared answering me, and trying to figure out my cultural reference, when Jenny came over to take our orders. "Hey Sarah," she greeted, pulling her notepad and pencil out of her apron pocket. So _maybe_ I was a bit of a regular at the diner, and _maybe_ I had a soft spot for Jenny, not that it would ever amount to anything, though, I just loved loving people if you catch my drift.

"Nice to see you Jenny," I replied tersely, realizing immediately after the words left my mouth that Cas was the one who I was angry with, not sweet Jenny the waitress who would spend her life job-hopping, and I instantly regretted it.

"Rough day," she asked as she began to pencil down my usual order.

"You know it," I responded, my tone slightly kinder than it was before, although still not back to its usual lackadaisical symphony.

"The usual then," she stated, smiling at me like she understood exactly what was going on.

"Please, and do you guys have any peach cobbler?" I sunk back into the familiar vinyl seats, drawing circles in the sand, well, salt, a nervous habit I had picked up from a week I had spent with an old dude named Bobby. He kept rambling about the most random shit, but i think more than I liked to admit stuck with me.

"It's Tuesday, you know it's cherry cobbler on Tuesdays," she responded with a giggle, and my heart got a little lighter. Jenny had that kind of effect on people, she comforted and reassured, which was one of the reasons I frequented this diner. Well that _and_ her amazing ass, but that was another matter.

"I also know that you make peach cobbler, no matter what day it is," I responded, my voice a little heavier than usual. It seemed to have its desired effect, considering she blushed slightly and wrote down what I assumed was something like 'peach cobbler.'

"I'll have your food right out," she smirked, "Peach cobbler and all," and sticking her pencil in her hair she strutted off, earning me a very generous look at her backside, that tease.

Forgetting Jenny for a moment, I turned back towards Cas. _More important things, Sarah_. "You know I didn't fucking sign up for this Cas," the words hissed through my teeth.

"You would put it as a 'Package deal'," he put air quotes around package deal, and I couldn't help but snort at how ridiculous it was, him being able to compute after watching my obvious flirtation with our waitress. Then again, he probably didn't even notice.

"Too late to back out?" I asked, raising my eyebrows and continuing to play with the salt, my grounding point. _No, not nervous, I'm not nervous, why would I be nervous?_ Shit.

"Yes," He stated matter-of-factly. After a few moments he looked up and stated, his voice decidedly lighter for Cas, "They are coming."

I looked up at him and followed where his eyes were leading, and even if I hadn't it wouldn't be that hard to pinpoint the lumberjacks he was talking about, considering they were the only two people in the diner which I hadn't seen yet and they towered over everybody. My heart lept into my throat for the millionth time today. "That's them," I bluntly stammered, completely taken with the fact that that was not what I had pictured. At all. It was the last thing I had in mind, actually. It's like I had ordered Bill Cosby, and someone decided to send me Dennis Quaid and Jeremy Rennerl. I felt my mouth crook in the corner a bit as I realized that my father was a bit of a badass because suit or not,  
you can always spot a hardass when you see one. And they were it, even if one was slightly more unassuming than the brooding five year old next to him. Hey, I wondered, maybe it's genetic, the whole bad-ass thing.

\---

"This vinyls uncomfortable," I whined, shifting around and pulling at my suit sleeves.

"It's a diner, Dean," Sam pointed out. He was sitting to my right and had that usual brat tone I assumed he was using whenever I was nervous or upset. No, not nervous. But I wasn't pissed either. I didn't know what I was at the moment, and that was, well, it wasn’t good. "When have diner seats ever been comfortable?"

"Every diner except this one, Sammy," I grunted back, refusing to stop fidgeting. I loved diners. You could pay with cash and the businesses were so small no one ever really checked on their business logs. But I wanted to get the hell out of dodge as soon as yesterday.

I felt a reassuring hand on my own from across the table, causing me to tense up slightly, hyper aware of every nerve ending in my body and the blush that was flooding my face. Not only did I have a daughter now, but I had to deal with Cas on top of that. Well, I’ve had a daughter for a while, I guess. And the Cas thing wasn't _exactly_ new, but still. It sucked. But I realized in that moment, why it hadn't hit me before I had no clue, but I realized in that moment when my life was about to be turned on its head. That Cas could do in one touch what others couldn't with one night stands and sonnets, and what really sucked is I'm sure that he damn well knew it too, that ass-butt. Then again, he never showed signs that he did.

"Dean," his gravely voice cooed in my ears, and I had to force myself to breathe normally, my world was being torn apart and left at shreds, so nothing out of the ordinary was happening really. But it was different, and I couldn't pinpoint why. "Maybe you shouldn't take it out on Sam when you are the one who was," this time Cas paused not for translation but out of courtesy, "irresponsible." On second thought maybe it was just translation, he has no manners. Ass-butt.

"I think I'm gonna be sick," I stood up and bee-lined for the bathroom, already done with whatever lay in front of me. I stood in front of the mirror for what seemed like forever, but the door had barely swung shut before Sam pushed his way through, almost having to duck through the door, fucking moose.

"Dean," I saw the look of concern written all over his face, heard it in his voice, before I had even looked into his reflection on the mirror, "are you gonna be alright?" Why did he have to be sensible all of the damn time?

"I don't know, Sam," I spat back, for once letting the words I wanted to say flow out of my mouth, I just couldn't face a child that I had abandoned for a few years without venting first. Something that was completely out of character for me and I wondered for the millionth time just what in the hell was going on. "I have a kid that I didn't know anything about. I mean, I know I'm not the smartest of guys, but I've always made sure I had a little insurance-"

"Okay, little less sharing," he held his hands up like he wanted to ward off my words, and turned his head to the side. Brat.

"Sam, I don't even know this kid. I don't know how old she is. I have a daughter. I can't wrap my brain around that, Sam, okay? Dean no comprendo kido." I was in full-freak-out mode.

"Okay," Sam came forward and stood in front of me, his classic no-negotiation pose. "Calm down, Dean. I don't know any of this either-"

"She's not your kid, Sam," I snorted back, rubbing my hand over the back of my neck.

"No, she's not, but I just found out I'm an uncle alright? She's related to me too and I feel just as guilty that I didn't know about her. So splash some water on your face, walk around a bit, and for God's sake just don't shoot someone." So I guess I looked as nervous as I felt then.  Who gave him the right to make sense all of the damn time anyway?

"If I shoot anybody It's going to be me," I turned around so I didn't have to look at Sam's stupid face any longer, no matter how right he was, "How could I be so stupid, Sam?"

"Well, you aren't a genius,” ignoring the jab, “ but you're not stupid either, Dean," he had assumed that concerned tone again and somehow managed to guide me over to the sink. "Accidents happen. We know that more than anyone."

"Yeah, Sam, accidents do happen," I replied, slumping against the sink, "but I have a daughter. I made the biggest mistake a guy can make. There is someone out there who I should have been responsible for, Sam, and instead, I left because I didn't know. I left and now I'm-" I stopped dead in the middle of my sentence, realizing what I was about to say and wondering if Sammy knew, knowing I couldn't finish my sentence.

"You aren't dad, Dean," of course Sam knew what I was going to say, and of course he ignored my “mistake” comment. How could you respond to your brother thinking his kid was a mistake anyway?

"How am I not?" I was done, defeated, and he knew that. I was already mentally exhausted, and I still had a decathlon in front of me. I had done to my child what I swore I wouldn’t do, and the bane of my existence sat like an elephant on my chest.

"Because you care. Because despite all of this, you are going to make this right, I know you will. Because she won't be raised to be," he gestured towards the both of us, and that conveyed more than enough. Hunters. She wouldn’t grow up in our world. She would grow up safe because we would make sure of it. She would have the childhood we never had, I would make sure of it, even if it killed me. I would make this right. I would give her to a loving family and she would never have to see me againq.

"You're right. I just have to meet her, yank her out of the system and plop her with somebody we trust." At Sams raised eyebrows I amended my statement, "You know what I mean." After a few minutes of silence I heard a chuckle across from me, and I looked in it's direction spitting, "What?"

"It's just," Sam started, his dopey grin plastered in place. Shit. "You have a great track record with kids you know?"

"Don't you dare bring Ben into this Sam," I crossed the room and stuck my finger in his chest. It had been so long since I had thought of Ben and Lisa that I almost felt guilty. Almost.

"I wasn't talking about Ben," he chuckled, "I was talking about Emma."

I winced, but let my mouth turn up slightly, "Oh, Emma. You know, Sammy, I had almost forgotten that you had killed my freak of a daughter not too long ago. Think this ones an amazon too?" I gestured towards the door, indicating whatever lay on the other side of it.

"Gee, I don't know, Dean, you hook up with anyone in the last two days?" His laughter was getting on my nerves, real quick.

"Nope, I'm clean," I responded, my mind racing back to all of the things I had thought about doing to a certain angel of mine in the past forty-eight hours. I hadn’t been laid in damn near three years, and it had been a long, long time. Thank God for Magic Fingers.

"Uh, Dean," it had been quiet for another stretch of time before Sam had spoken, but it made me tense up, the worry written on my face once again. I turned around and saw Sam waving his phone, "She's here." Because that's not ominous in any way you little shit.

"Great," I coughed and tried again, not happy with the fact that I sounded like one of Alvin's brothers from those stupid squirrel movies, "Great. Lets go."

"Try not to be such a pouty five-year-old," Sam whispered as he pushed open the bathroom door, and headed towards the booth we were previously occupying.

If Sam hadn't been blocking my view half the way, then I would have turned around and went right back into the bathroom. Here I thought I had a bouncy little child, no older than eight, still old enough to wear ribbons in her hair, and smile, who was still innocent enough to forget the system. And what I ended up with was, well, not that. It was like looking into a gender swap mirror, complete with ragged clothing, scars, and judging by the tee shirt she was wearing, same taste in music. There was a scar running the length of her forearm that was fairly fresh and stood out against the rest of her skin. _Please let it have been an accident_ , I vainly hoped. I knew she was in her late teens, no younger than seventeen, although she looked like she was twenty. I wondered what she had seen that had caused her to age so quickly. _Gee Dean_ , the back of my mind insisted, _maybe its the fact that she hasn't had any parents for who knows how long_. I shoved the guilt to the back of my mind and instead focused on her face. She had the same jawline I was used to seeing everyday in the mirror, although it was as if someone had reached out and softened hers, narrowed it a bit. Her eyes were the same green mine were, although their shape was foreign to me. Her hair fell in a brown wavy curtain that framed her face, and she had freckles just like mine that splayed like a faulty spray-can had gone off. All I had to do was look at her to know that there was no way I could say she wasn't my daughter, not that I would, but it ruled that opportunity out. She was my spitting image. All I had to do was look at her to have my hopes crumble around me. She wouldn’t grow up safe and secure. She wouldn’t have a normal childhood like I could never hope to have had. She had grown up in the system, which wasn’t any better than growing up a hunter, and it was all. My. Fault. Shit. Shit. Shit-shit- _shit-shit-shit._

I realized that we had reached the booth and I had just been standing there smiling, awkwardly, for a few moments, maybe minutes, when I found the words, "Cas, can I talk to you for a second," fly out of my mouth. When did I start asking for permission? Today was all kinds of backwards, and if I hadn't gotten Trickster Gabriel killed, I would have blamed it on his sorry ass. No, don’t think about that Winchester.

Cas stood up and Sam sat next to my, my thing that I, no that's not correct, my _daughter,_ as my world spiraled away from my control for the millionth time in my life. Fuck.

"Cas," I turned my back on the two at the booth for a minute and leaned on my only support, my best friend, my, no focus Dean, "How old is she?" I knew I had a daughter, Cas had told me that, but surely he wouldn't leave out the fact that she was a teenager. He _hopefully_ knew better. Clearly not.

"She is seventeen Dean," He responded, his eyes starting to hold a human spark. He _gave it up_ , I was painfully reminded. He _gave up_ being an Angel, fighting whatever was pulling him back to Heaven when we closed the gates of Hell, because apparently if you closed one, the other closed as well. He _wanted_ to stay. Not the point, _focus_ Dean. Right. Daughter. _Focus._ Shit.

"Seventeen? What is she, some damn amazon?" Please say no.

"I do believe she has been alive for seventeen years and forty-eight days." His voice still held that matter-of-fact monotone I had grown used to.

"Wow, that's" I struggled for a minute, nervously fidgeting again as I tried to wrap my brain around just how long that was, "That's a long time," is what I eventually settled on. Smooth Winchester, real smooth. I also decided that I had bigger fish to fry, and would face my feelings for Cas later. At the motel. Which also happened to have Magic Fingers. _Damn it,Dean, focus on your daughter_. You are here for her, not Cas. Although, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Cas, so really, he owed me. It all circled back to angel numero uno. Ass-butt.

"For humans, yes," is what he responded with.

"Yeah. Well, Cas," I responded, gripping his shoulder as we walked toward the booth, "You are one now, so get ready for a few long years yourself." I absolutely was not focusing on how much touching my best friend was frying my brain. Because it wasn't. Daughter. I had one. That's what was. Brain. Frying. Fuck.

\---

"Cas," the short one inquired, "Can I talk to you for a moment?" He was shorter than his brother by a good eight inches and his brother looked to be upwards of  six three, but then again I was never good with heights. They could be three inches apart in height and it wouldn't make much difference since they were both giants either way. They were both also wearing suits and the shorter one had a gruff look to him, as if he hadn't shaved for days which contrasted nicely with the motel iron pressed suit and white shirt he was wearing paired with a red pin-striped tie. He gave off a general vibe of sexually-frustrated. The taller one had shaved recently, his hair was a lions mane, and he was wearing the same motel ironed suit, only two sizes bigger and completed with a blue tie and missing cuff buttons. Yeah, these guys sure are real professionals. I rolled my eyes as Ginormo next to me awkwardly shifted and Cas carried on his conversation with Tiny Tim.

"So," the tall one cleared his throat and addressed me, a slight look of what-the-hell-do-I-do in his eyes, "Come here often?"

"Well, this isn't a bar and you are my Uncle so I figure I shouldn't answer this sarcastically?" I turned my sentence up at the end to phrase it like a question, taking a sip of sweet tea from the glass Jenny just placed in front of me, daring him to prove me wrong. My guess that he was my uncle was just a guess after all.

"Yeah, probably not," he took a long sip from his glass of water and continued, his voice hoarse, "How did you, uh, how did you know I was, uh, your uncle and not-"

"My father?" I finished for him, going back to playing with the salt. At his nod I explained, "Well, we can rule awkward over there out as a candidate," at this he chuckled and rolled his eyes. Of course Cas wasn’t my father. He was the one who orchestrated this trainwreck, "and you don't look like you're about to hang yourself from the nearest ceiling fan with your tie like Tiny Tim over there," I made a motion with my fork at the married couple in the middle of the diner, decked out in their suits and a trenchcoat, “so I figured you're my uncle, and captain sweaty is my padre biologico." He started choking on his water, which he had just taken another drink of, and I asked, "What?"

"It's just," he cleared his throat, and a smile broke out on his face, the awkward seeping away as if we were old friends, "Dean, he does that sometimes. The Spanish thing."

"Ahh," I rolled my eyes, "So his names Dean. To answer your question though," I continued as if no conversation had passed since the diner question, the one about me coming here often, "I do come here often. Sometimes three times a week."

"That good, huh?"

"The best," I responded, and I saw Tiny Dancer over there with Cas shuffle awkwardly. How cute. Actually, as I looked at them, their body language completely explained the whole sexually-frustrated vibe “Dean” was giving off. Huh.

"I'm Sam by the way,"  he blabbed after a few moments silence, as if suddenly remembering he hadn't actually introduced himself yet.

"Sarah," I responded as our food arrived, I started munching on french fries before the plate had even hit the table, smiling at Jenny through the mouthful. "Thanks Jenny," I winked at her as she walked towards the kitchen, checking her out as she did. Hey, I just couldn’t help myself sometimes.

"You too," Sam asked, motioning to indicate my obvious flirtation with the waitress at every given opportunity.

"Depends," I responded, not exactly knowing how to answer a question like that. Not necessarily wanting to either. I mean these guys were probably just going to pack up and leave in a few days anyway, so why should I let Uncle Sam know something as personal as my sexuality, which was everywhere and everyone in case you were wondering. Boys, girls, monsters, I loved them all.

"Yeah," Sam took a rather large bite of his burger and continued talking, "Dean too," he motioned towards the two who were wrapping up their conversation.

"And let me guess," I licked the ketchup off of my fingers, "He doesn't know you know."

"Not really. He doesn't know I don't care about it." His voice held nothing but sincerity, and my curiosity got the best of me as I cocked an eyebrow skywards.

"What does that mean?" I asked, but the golden couple were already making their way back to the table, leaving me confused and without an answer. Fuckers, no pun intended.

"Nice of you to wait for us," Dean nervously stage-whispered as he slid into the booth directly across from me, Cas following behind him, digging into one of his three burgers. How in hell did he eat that much?

"Nice of you to include us in your conversation," I snapped back, my mouth full of burger. I wasn’t here to make friends, might as well be as obnoxious as possible.

"Gross," he responded, looking to the side as if it were the most grotesque thing he had ever seen in his life, "Don't talk with your mouth full." _Oh, look who’s a father now_ , I thought sardonically.

"And what are you gonna do," I replied, my mouth full of another bite as I shoved fries in my mouth, "Ground me?" I held a challenge in my voice, an unspoken please-don't-leave-me-in-this-hellhole, but I also wanted an excuse to sly dig him for the years I didn't know he was there, the years he ignored me. The times I spent locked in dog crates and in dark basements, wishing someone, _anyone_ , would save me. I pointedly ignored how well we were getting along.

Why wasn’t he brushing this whole thing off, and why wasn’t I taking out the fact that I was so pissed at him? I was furious, so why couldn’t I act on that? If I let him leave without showing a little angst, he would think that leaving me alone to wonder my whole life was okay.

He only responded by taking an appallingly large bite and talking around the grotesque lump, "Maybe." Swallowing my bite I listened to Cas attempt a laugh, more of a nervous bark really, as Sam buried his laughter in his food. After Dean had swallowed the mass of beef in his mouth he continued, it looked like we were going to get on famously. "My names Dean." "Sara," I responded my mouth full once more. "Did your mother give you that name," the question was from my right, I guess Sam had had enough of being quiet. "How would I know," I responded, and before they could ask I continued, "I don't even know who she was."

"I like your shirt," Dean said motioning to the likeness of Def Leppard that was sprawled across my torso.

"Thanks, they have got to be my all-time favorite band," I swallowed another bite of my burger and chased it down with sweet tea, ignoring how quiet Sam and Cas were being. Why wasn’t this more awkward? Why couldn’t I be pissed at him? I was, I knew I was, I just didn’t realize I was so guarded as to not show people when I was pissed and upset. Not showing people when you’re hurt I get, I had to live with that everyday of my life, had to learn it the hard way, but this? I really _am_ a basket case.

"Yeah they're okay, but they have _nothing_ on Led Zeppelin." He stated this as if it were law, which to him it might as well have been. I got that kind of vibe from him, that if you didn't agree, he would either pout until you gave up, or try and convince you otherwise. He was so righteous, and not in a good way.

"Not even," I responded, completely ignoring my food, "I mean yeah, Zeppelin's good, but they have nothing on Def Leppard. Pour Some Sugar on Me _has_ to be one of the biggest hard rock anthem's out there, and Rock Rock’s chord composition is brain-blowing."

"You cannot seriously tell me that you think some princess rock is better than Zep's Ramble On," he had that look a child gets on their face when they're told Santa isn't real and that bunnies don't actually poop eggs, ruling out the easter bunny being real.

"Do you hear those words coming out of my mouth?" I challenged, picking up a fry and flicking it at him, counting it as a victory as it hit his tie, leaving behind a grease spot. How’s that for angry teenager? God, I sucked.

"Alright, ladies," I heard Sam chime in, his voice still not recovered from laughing, "Calm down."

"Sam," Cas interjected, cutting Dean off, as if he were worried about Sam's mental capabilities, "I believe only one of them is a lady."

"I'm not even close to a lady, Cas," I interrupted whatever Sam was going to say, " but it's a figure of speech." I honestly wish I didn't enjoy Cas' looks of disappointment so much, but hey, it was the most hilarious thing I had ever seen in my life. He resembled a puppy who had been left out in the rain.

"Oh," was all he said.

"Anyway," I heard Sam interrupt, assuming a business tone. Shit. "Who is your current foster family?"

"The Wilsons," I responded, digging my spoon into my peach cobbler that had just arrived along with Dean's pie, my voice going from what may have resembled friendliness to business in negative four seconds. Hey, there’s that wall I had spent all of my life building, no thanks to these jack-asses.

"And," Dean prompted, forking pie into his mouth at a speed that couldn't be healthy. At my silence, though, he specified, clearly annoyed that he had to pause in devouring his pie, "Are they nice people?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, my wall getting in the way of human interaction yet again, at least I had found it, damn, "I mean, considering."

"What do you mean, considering?" The question came from my side. What a moose.

"It means," I responded, resting my spoon onto my plate with a clang,"That I've been in the system my whole life, so what the hell do you think 'considering' means, huh? Or do you just think foster care is rainbows and care-bears?" Yeah, maybe I shouldn't have been so brash, but he shouldn't be asking questions that even range near personal, uncle or not. He shouldn’t be asking questions about things I would rather not face. He shouldn’t be asking questions, period. He hadn’t earned that right, none of them had except for Cas. He was the only one who was even remotely there for me.

"I'm sorry," he responded, the sentiment echoed in his expression, "I didn't realize, it's just," he trailed off not knowing how to finish his sentence. God, I’m sorry was the worst, in my opinion. If you didn’t know how to relate to the situation,and had no way other than “I’m sorry” to express sentiment, then it was better off just not being said. People and their fucking “courtesy.”

He looked at Cas for help, and he picked up where the giant left off, "What Sam is saying, is that we have to verify that the situation is," another lost in translation moment, "Bad enough before we can pull you out."

"What do you mean, “bad enough”?" This conversation wasn't going where I wanted it to, and it was going there fast. My voice grew a few decibels as I continued speaking, "You found my biological father, Cas. So why do you have to verify with the system how bad the situation is? Can't you just, I don't know, sign some papers or something?" In all honesty, the situation was always “bad enough.” The more I realized just what was going on, the storm inside of me swelled to a hurricane.

"We could sign papers," Sam's voice was getting annoying fast. No one could be that concerned all of the time, then again he could just be annoying because I was annoyed, "But that would make us your primary care takers, and with our lifestyle that just isn't an option."

"And," I spat back refusing to believe what I was hearing. _That would make us your primary caretakers_. It repeated in my head like a broken record. I fucking knew it. They didn't want me. I knew it, but still I had hoped. How stupid I was to even agree to this damn meeting in the first place. I was nothing to nobody. It had been like that forever, and it would continue to be like that until I died, and how foolish I was to think otherwise.

They didn't want me.

They didn't want me

They didn't want me.

They.

Didn't.

Want.

Me.

But no one did, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

"It's not that we don't want you," Sam was quick to amend, as if he could read my mind. Right.

"We just aren't in any place to take of a child right now," Dean finished the sentence like he wanted to hide something, his face screamed please-don't-be-mad. Maybe it was defeat. Maybe I didn’t care. Except I did, and thats what truly blew.

"I'm not a child," was all I could muster through the war in my mind. It raged louder than ever as I came to the realization that the one person whom I had a right to claim a spot in life with, didn’t want me. My own blood, throwing me to the wolves.

"No, you aren't," Dean continued in a frenzied attempt to save his own ass, "We are just going to place you with some people that we trust for a while-"

"Don't even bother," I interrupted, my mouth reconnecting with my mind, and now that I regained my ability to convey speech, I unleashed. "I have less than a fucking year until I turn eighteen which means I can do whatever I damn well please. I can handle whatever the fuck is thrown at me until then. It can’t be any worse than anything I’ve lived through for the past seventeen years. So why don't you two go and crawl back into whatever thing drove you here and I'll go back to that pit I currently live in. You can go back to not caring, and I'll get through until my birthday." I stood up and when I realized Sam wasn't going to move, I pushed my way around him and turned back towards the table to  
say one last thing to the father I would never see again, how sad that these would be the only words we would ever exchange, "You know, thanks for this, though.  I really appreciate knowing that not even my father wants me. But hey, I’ve made it this far alone, haven’t I?"

And then I walked out. I pushed through the crowd of footballers who had just walked through the door, earning me several shouts of protest, distantly registering that it was Tommy and his idiot friends, and continued to my car, throwing myself in the front seat and tearing out of the parking lot, heading back to the Wilson's house.

When I got there I saw that I had a text from Tommy.

Tommy. Of course.

I didn't even open it, just grabbed a handful of clothes and headed to his dorm room. He would be waiting there, he always was. When I got there he opened the door and held me, the only time in my life someone had openly embraced me and I hadn’t pushed them away. This was one of the only times in my life when someone touched me and it wasn't violent. The only time someone had touched me without the intent of beating the living shit out of me later. Ever. In all honesty, he was the only person in the world who I trusted to even come close to touching me. If I wasn't crying I probably would have pushed him away, told him to stop being such a sap, make fun of him for caring. Funny thing is though, I was broken, and I didn't even know that I could cry, I hadn't done it in so long. But now I realized even though I had no idea when it had started, it wouldn't stop for a long time. What kind of power did those three idiots have over me, to suddenly make me feel? To make me acknowledge the general shitiness of my life and realize there was no escape. Oh, yeah, just the only people on earth who could rescue me from this hell.  
Still, Tommy closed the door, ushered me over to his couch, made me some tea and just let me cry. Just let me be for as long as I needed too. Something no one had ever done for me, but Tommy did that. Tommy always did that. Tommy treated me like I was a human, and not, well, me. Worthless, broken, beaten, me.

He didn’t know what happened at the diner. I hadn’t told him and he wouldn’t have asked the gilded three that he saw me storm away from. I doubt Jenny even paid that much attention to what was going on. Yet still he held me, not asking any questions, knowing that I couldn’t be left alone. He knew that I had a rough past. I hadn’t told him all of it, of course. I had barely even told him that I had ever been abused, but he knew and he still cared about me, and that’s what mattered. He didn’t know that his family was full of monsters though, just thought I fought a lot, and despite the inevitability of him turning on me too, I couldn’t stay away. Because he cared. He was the only one who had ever cared, and so I had latched onto it like he was the only life raft in a tossing sea, a decision which I was certain would only come back to haunt me. I knew it would, not even my father, my only relative I had left that I knew of besides Sam, didn’t want me. He was just going to pull me out of the system and drop me with someone he knew because he didn’t want to deal with me, as if I was an old set of golf clubs he could pawn off on somebody else.

Knowing that Tommy was the one person who gave a damn though, didn't help. I would leave and it wouldn't mean anything to him. I would just be the girl he held while she cried. Just the foster sister who passed through, watching shitty re-runs of predictable reality TV shows in the night, drinking stale tea and smelling the musty college air. He was the only person in my life who had ever pulled a genuine laugh from me, one that was inspired from something happy, not a snarky comment or situation, and somewhere in the depths of my mind, the miniscule part that was reserved for dreaming. I hoped that I could stay here forever. Safe. Warm. Loved.

Well, at least cared for if not loved. Because I may not mean a lot to him, but he had shown me something no one else, not even my father, had shown me; that people could care for me, and he was the only one who had ever shown me any kindness. I mean, yeah there was Kelly, but she had given up too once she realized how much I didn’t care, how much of a mess I was. Tommy never gave up and I knew in the end that’s what would kill me. I mean, I was already jealous enough when he jumped from girlfriend to girlfriend which wasn’t something that had happened for almost six months now. I wanted him all to myself, romantically or not. Tommy had done more for me than any other person ever had by just simply being there. I wanted to stay, but knew I couldn’t. If I stayed he would learn what had happened to me and he would leave, but if I left, I would lose him too. Either way it was a morton's fork. I just wanted Tommy, but even that was too much to ask for.

Unfortunately, life had other plans. It wouldn't have lasted anyway, I was just an annoying little girl who had her self worth pinned on the boy who made her laugh. He had everything going for him and I had no right to step in and mess that up. So when I left in the morning, I made sure I was quiet, sneaking out the front door while Tommy was still fast asleep because thats what I did. I got close, and then I left. I didn’t want him to know how broken I was and this was the only way to make sure he didn’t know. He deserved better.  So I drove to school and didn’t look back, wearing the same clothes as yesterday since I had grabbed nothing but underwear in my emotional haste, promising myself that for the next year, I wouldn’t see Tommy. He may be my best friend, but he deserves better.

I got to school just in time for English, well forty minutes late for English, but it didn't really matter, did it? I walked inside, one-strapping the backpack I carried around for appearances, not like it got any use outside of the times I was moving from home to home, or running away from homes. And also I tended to be a bit of a kleptomaniac. Sue me.

“Thank you,” I heard a slimy, british voice greet me as I strolled into English, “For gracing us with your presence, Sarah.”

“Don’t mention it,” I responded, plopping down on my desk and grabbing the highlighter off the nerd-next-to-me’s desk. “Although this appearance isn’t going to be cheap.”

“I’m thinking detention,” he responded, ripping off a beloved school note from his official pad.

“Now you’re talking,” I slapped my boots, which were caked with mud, onto my desk, just because I knew it pissed Mr. Crowley off.

“Take your shoes off the desk,” he commanded, strutting over to my desk and slapping down my detention slip right as the bell rang.

“Sure,” I responded as I snatched up the slip and tossed it crumpled in the bin on my way out.

I crossed the courtyard to the fountain ledge where I usually pissed away lunch. I had just sat down when I noticed something that set my blood boiling.

Across the courtyard a bunch of jocks were pushing around the kid that was continually lending me supplies in English. Ok, so I continually swiped them, but that didn’t mean I was going to sit by and watch as they bullied him. I grabbed my bag and stormed across the ten yards separating us and yelled, “Hey, dick, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Look,” the jock shouted back before he had even turned around to see who was yelling at him, “This isn’t any of your conce- Oh, it’s you.” I swear to you, he snarled. Aww, football scare tactics really were adorable.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Was it his Poison record I had swyped? “ Now let him go and you can walk away without any internal bleeding.” The sweetness in my voice made me a little sick honestly.

He pushed my shoulders so hard I almost fell over. I fought down memories of stairs, closets, and basements. He was just like all of them, used to getting what he wanted and pushing others around if he didn’t. This fight I had control over, though, unlike so many others. This fight I started. This is why I fought so much, to be truthful. I could control who got hurt and how badly, it wasn’t just absent-minded abuse. “Look,” I wondered if he could talk without attempting to snarl like a bulldog with allergies, “You better walk away before I start beating on you too, wimp.” Wow he was _so scary._

“No, why don’t you let him go and you and I can fight this out like civilized people, kay?” I dropped my bag on the ground and the roid-raged junkies let go of a terrified kid who looked at me like he would rather have those jocks beat the crap out of him than have me step in and save his ass. “Scram,” I barked in his direction, not wanting to hear any thank you’s, not like I was getting any from him. His face spelled disgust.

“You know, this really isn’t fair,” he stated, shrugging out of his varsity jacket, “My dad always taught me not to hit girls.” Oh, so he was one of Tommy’s football friends, I guessed as I eyed the jacket, probably in the diner yesterday where I shoved my way through. Oh!  _Now_ it made sense. He was pushing me around because I pushed him around. Fair enough.

“Wish mine had done the same,” I responded, my eyebrow cocked. This idiot surely wasn’t going to do anything major. I had been through way worse that what he had to offer.

Apparently I was slightly wrong I found out a few seconds later as I was knocked on my ass thanks to a right cross from enemy numero uno. I rubbed my jaw where the punch had landed and stood back up. “Alright,” I cracked my neck and shoulders, thankful over the years I had learned how to take a hit, “That’s how you wanna play.” I swung my left leg out, catching him off-guard as he fell to the dust, and that’s when hell broke loose. I climbed on top of his sorry ass in the dirt and started wailing on him. However, I had only gotten a solid six strikes in when his groupies dragged me off of him and threw me in the dirt. I’m talking airborne here. Each taking a swift, firm kick at my side when I landed. I felt the familiar crack in my side and knew I had a few broken ribs, but no more than two, at the most. Funny how you learned to tell what was broken by experience.

“Beat it guys,” I heard the head honcho call, and they took off like they were caught underage drinking, pussies.

I saw why a few moments later as a shadow blocked out my view from the sun as the crowd around us disappeared as quickly as they had arrived. My eyes took a minute to adjust, and when they did I thought I saw the dark, brooding outline of my english teacher above me. Although, it was hard to tell due to my black eye and all.

“Fighting, Sarah, really?” Yep, it was definitely Mr. Crowley. “Not like I would expect anything more from an Ape like you.” 

“Suprised, C?” I stumbled to my feet and grabbed my backpack, knowing he would take me to Kelly’s office and the sanctuary it held. If I knew what was waiting for me, I would have made a run for the hills right then, sanctuary be damned.

“Not really, you uncultured swine,” he walked in front of me with the arrogance of a quarterback, and the power of a mall cop. Fucking teachers.

“Swine, sure,” I conceded as we turned a corner, Kelly’s office coming into view, “But uncultured, really?”

The last words left my mouth as the office door swung open, and when I took in the scene in front of me, my heart stopped. There, in front of me, were the last three people I ever wanted to see in my life, all talking to Kelly as if it were a life or death situation. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you liked this chapter! Thanks to my amazing Beta lovestory-fanatic for making this chapter so much better than it originally was! How do you think Dean will react to Sarah's fight? What do you think will happen with Team free will now that they've met Sarah? And what's going on with Tommy?


	5. The Last Worthless Evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quietly hands you this update and sneaks off to go write the next chapter.* I'm so incredibly sorry that this update took so long! I promise not to ever take this long of a gap between chapters again and I SWEAR to you this work isn't abandoned! I had to BETA this chapter myself so i apologize for any errors, but LoveStoryFanatic and I have been SUPER SUPER busy. Hopefully i made up for the long wait with the long chapter! *I tried!* Enjoy!

You would think the three people standing in front of me would be some of my foster parents. Someone from my distant past, maybe, but I had just met two of the perps yesterday.

You would think that it might be Alastair, my fourth foster father. Alastair is the one who made me lose hope, the one who finally convinced me that I was nothing, that no one wanted me, convinced me of the one truth that had stuck with me through everything and ensured my miserable survival up until this point; I was no one and had no one to live for and no one who even wanted me to live. Alistair had beaten this into me until it had become absolute truth and most of the time telling myself he was wrong wasn’t close to enough, but it got me through. I lived with Alastair and his demonic dogs until Cas found me, and he is the cause of most of my scars, if you even care to know, Alastair that is, not Cas. The first week I was there, in that pit where I lost all hope, he cut me open, literally and figuratively. I learned more than how worthless I was in Alastair's dungeon though, I learned not to cry and not to scream, because it only made it worse. If I screamed, then he would make the cuts deeper so they took longer to stop bleeding, he got off on it, I swear. It was in his dungeon that I stopped dreaming and realized how worthless I was. I was eight, Cas didn’t show up until I was ten,  I was trapped in that hell for two years. Alastair claimed to be a doctor, he told me he was helping me. And I believed him, that’s what made him the worst out of all of the families; the abuse that he provided day in and out ran deeper than I could ever imagine. I still had nightmares, but that was nothing new.

You would think it would have been my last foster family, the one before the Wilsons. They didn’t have a pet of their own, and as soon as I showed up, I had a collar around my neck and was thrown into a kennel that barely held me. My face was continually pressed into a metal grate, I had dog food thrown at me once a day in lieu of a meal if I was lucky, and when I got thirsty they drenched me with water from the backyard hose, then left me in the dark, cold basement for days, sometimes weeks on end, until they remembered they had a dog and took me on a walk in the dead of night. The neighbors couldn’t find out that they had a new dog, much less that the dad had a thing for public displays of abuse. They looked apple pie to the core to anyone who didn’t know better. Despite all of this, they were still the best family I had been placed in the care of. I missed a year of school, and when Cas found me I was on the brink of death, although that’s hardly a surprise, nine out of ten times he found me I was barely drawing breath. I was fifteen I think, maybe sixteen, birthdays lose their importance after a while, and Cas nursed me back to health relatively quickly, something that was out of the norm in the first place. Usually they, being what I like to call transporters, not caseworkers,  just overnighted you to another american dream family, still Cas left me in a motel until I had regained my strength after every family, and then he would ship me off to the next foster family. Sure he wasn’t that different from every other case worker, but I might not be alive if it wasn’t for him, something I was not a fan of.

You would think it would be any of my foster families, really, because as horrible as those homes and people were, they were the standard of living for me, and nothing compared to the battle I  now faced.

But no, it wasn’t any of my old foster families, although I suddenly found myself wishing it was one of them, any of them, because facing them would have been easier than... whatever was in front of me now. Standing in front of me were Cas, Sam, and Dean, looking like vigilantes as they conversed with Kelly about my fate; well I assumed it was about me anyway.

Because lets face it, what could the Three Amigos and Kelly have in common other than me?

So I stood there, ignoring how the room went silent and all parties turned towards me. Ignoring the stand-off that was happening between the Amigos and Crowley, as if they were all long-forgotten enemies. Ignoring the slight panic in Crowley's eyes because this couldn’t be happening. Ignoring the slight look of shock on Rocky and Bullwinkle's faces as they realized that it was me who just walked through the door, afraid of being caught probably, or from finding me in this god forsaken pit. Ignoring the conflicting feelings of hope and despair that twisted my insides beyond recognition.

I stormed out of the diner. That was the end of it, those were supposed to be the only words we ever exchanged. That was it. It was over, done, finito, fin. Dean made it clear he didn’t want anything to do with me, he was even kind enough to offer to hand deliver me to another family.

So why were they here? I mean, I never said I didn’t want to see them again, but I thought I had made it pretty clear.

“Sarah,” Kelly’s voice was slightly surprised, like she was expecting me, but I had arrived earlier than she had hoped. “We were just talking about you.” Yeah, no shit, and way to avoid the ever increasing awkwardness in the air Kelly, I thought.

I refused to move. Refused to blink. I would have refused to breathe but that’s kind of important to human life and what not.

“What are you doing here,” I wish the words had been from my mouth, they went so perfectly with what I was thinking, or the thoughts that were trying to compile themselves in my head. Unfortunately it was the English idiot behind me who uttered those fateful words, and my head continued to spiral into hell with confusion. What in the actual hell was going on?

“Crowley,” Sam said, his voice filled with poorly-masked disbelief.

I deadpanned; they knew each other? I figured the looks earlier were just coincidence, but no, of course they knew each other, they were both bent on making my life hell. Well, more than it already was anyway.

“You two know each other,” Kelly’s voice still hadn’t lost that note of surprise, and apparently everyone was just going to go ahead and voice my thoughts for me today, which I was okay with for once, on account of the whole confused and barely breathing thing on top of the holy-shit-my-fathers-alive factor.

“Went to school together,” The voice belonged to Dean, and through the happy overtones he sounded like he would give anything to beat the shit out of Crowley, there was also a slight note of guilt behind his sarcasm, but Dean looked as if he was beyond feeling guilt with his cheap suit and tie and battlescars and devil gives a fuck attitude. I got the feeling that that was a usual thing though, considering they went to school together, the combined wanting to give C a beat down and simultaneous guilt thing, that is. As both parties approached each other, looking as if world war three were about to break out in the middle of Kelly’s office, I tried to figure out which person bullied who, and figured the beef had to be between Dean and C; perhaps a boyfriend nabbing scheme. Maybe they dated and Dean cheated on Crowley, and though he didn’t really look the cheating type, I wouldn’t put it past him. I could tell Sam got roped into it by association, but it was just as personal with him too. Huh, maybe Crowley cheated on Sam, but I didn’t really get that vibe off Sam, he was Mr. Righteous alongside Cas. Maybe it wasn’t anything and they just naturally hated each other.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you two,” Crowley said with a measurable amount of snark, stuffing his hands in his pockets as the standoff continued, pissing me off the more he talked.

“Yeah,” Sam replied, his voice surprisingly sarcastic, “It’s been awhile.”

I could almost smell the hidden meanings in the air. Cas was silent the whole time as well, making me wonder if he was the boyfriend in question, the one that got nabbed or maybe did the nabbing. Either way the whole situation made my head spin, and it wasn’t slowing down.

“I guess it’s true what they say,” Cas finally pitched in, his voice monotonous, “The world is small.” I almost laughed aloud, the phrase seemed forced with him, like he knew all too well just exactly how small the world was.

“Too small,” Crowley replied, his words slid off his tongue coated in senility and venom.

“Well,” I chimed in, eager to get the hell out of dodge, and this confusing as all fuck situation,  as soon as I could, “This has been a nice family reunion,” I looked pointedly at Sam and Dean and narrowed my eyes, “But I have a class that I really need to skip, so I’m just gonna-”

“No you’re not.” Kelly cut me off as my hand made contact with the smooth metal handle of the door. Shit. So close.

“Your daughter, eh?” Crowley looked around the room, specifically between Dean and I, and his glance made my stomach crawl, he just unsettled me. But how did he know, I mean Kelly knew because the amigos undoubtedly told her, so how did Crowley know? As far as I knew, Crowley knew nothing of me beyond the classroom and what a piss poor job I did in there, and I didn’t think that he could deduce that, I mean, we hardly even looked alike.

“Not the point, Crowley,” I always admired how authoritarian Kelly got when she was annoyed, which was any time Crowley was in the room,frankly.

“How did you know,” I spat the words out as I moved away from Crowley, midway between the Hardy Boys and the King of Hell that was high school.

“Oh, come on,” he looked as if the answer should be obvious, but at the silence in the room he continued, “You are his spitting image!”

I rolled my eyes and was about to snap back when Kelly snapped “I said enough,” Her demanding eyes fell on me now as she continued, the room falling silent. Shit. “Why are you here.” She didn’t say it as a question, more of an accusation. Not a rude ‘you don’t belong here’ kind of way, but more of a ‘I’m not surprised’ kind of way.

“Crowley’s a sensitive little-shit,” I responded, dropping down into a chair in front of her desk. If the room was full of people, more than half of which I didn’t even like, one I tolerated and one that came as close to liking as I could get exactly, then I might as well make myself as comfortable as possible since it was clear I wouldn’t be leaving it anytime soon. I ignored the Three Amigos poorly-disguised laughter at my snap, as well as the nagging voice inside of my head that kept telling me I didn’t deserve to be comfortable; one of Alistair’s many lessons.

“She was fighting,” Crowley amended, clearly proud that he had caught me red-handed. The victory of the century for him, I’m sure.

“Did you decide to take on the whole football team this time,” She showed a rare flare of humor. Kelly really was hilarious when she didn’t have shit to deal with. And by shit I mean me. Also Crowley, he was Grade A fertilizer.

“No,” I responded, grabbing a heavy silver something from her desk and playing catch with it, “Just the starting O-line.” Well, half of them were offensive line starters, the other half were second string I’ll-play-whatever-position-coach-tells-me-to-play-because-I’m-desperate water jockeys.

“Yeah,” she sighed as she typed a few furious lines into her computer, “Well, knowing Chad and his groupies, they deserved it.” Realizing what she had said she pointed her pen at me and raised her eyebrows, classic that stays in here got it?

“Don’t worry,” I responded, Dean snatching the heavy object mid-air and placing it back on Kelly’s desk, throwing me a disapproving look in the process. “I let him off easy.” I sighed as Dean gave me a pretty convincing disapproving-dad stare. And by that I mean he looked slightly impressed, and by slightly I mean full on proud father about to fist-bump and tell me my bedtime was never. He caught himself grinning a second later, though, and shook it off. Looks like I inherited Deans ability to deal with feelings, considering how quickly he had shoved his aside.

“You did,” she raised her eyebrows, this time in surprise. Kelly didn’t really condone my fighting, but she had sure as hell had given up on stopping it a long time ago, and I bet she was more than surprised at the fact that I would come even close to stopping a fight I was involved in any other way than by blacking out or taking the other person out.

“Well,” I shrugged, “More or less. Crowley pulled me off” It was seriously weirding me out that Cas, Crowley, Sam, and Dean were all in the same room, and knew each other. But again, why wouldn’t they? Nobody wanted to make my life comfortable exactly, and I had to fight to keep my concentration on the conversation at hand. I completely missed Deans look shot Crowleys way at my comment, classic I-will-murder-you-if-you-do-that-again.

“Crowley give you detention again,” Kelly rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair as if she expected nothing more. Crowley did nothing but hand out detention and make his students feel like shit, and Kelly had grown tired of his games.

“Of course,” I responded absentmindedly, still trying to wrap my brain around just what the hell was actually going on. I should just give up, I wasn’t going to figure it out anytime soon.

“I have the write-up right here,” I distantly registered Kelly and Crowley’s banter in the back of my mind. How did they all know each other, and what brought them all to Georgia, of all places. And why was I suddenly important? Why did my father suddenly care about me?

“Didn’t you just catch her in the courtyard,” Kelly asked, her voice exasperated.

“Well I figured I’d give her a detention today.” It made no sense to me, why would they all be here now, of all times, when I had already been rooted here for years. Why had Dean and Sam just arrived with Cas, out of all of the meetings I’d had with my guardian before, why now when it was obvious they had known each other for awhile, and a long one at that. In my opinion it was clear that Dean and Cas more than knew each other, but that wasn’t my business. Which meant I was going to make it my business if they stuck around long enough.

“Crowley you manage to give someone a detention everyday.” Kelly was speaking now, but I paid her no mind. I guess my biggest question was why now, when I was so close to freedom. I was just asking questions that wouldn’t be answered, though, and I knew it.

“And I felt like today was Sarah’s lucky day,” more than why now, though, was why me? I’m no one, I have always been no one, and I would have continued being no one and nothing if these three avengers hadn't fucking blazed in here.

“Sarah you’re being awfully quiet,” Kelly’s voice snapped me out of my reverie.

“What,” I ignored the snorts from the three idiots to my right, yeah I wasn’t paying attention, what else is new.

“Should I even bother signing you up for detention,” I knew this was code for ‘Listen, I don’t want to play this game anymore than you do,’ and she knew my answer before she had even asked.

“Not like I’m going to show up anyway,” I looked her square in the eye, suddenly the circus to my right grew deathly quiet, probably wondering why I dared backtalk my principal.

“Alright,” and she took the note from Crowleys hand and threw it in the trashcan, a solid three points.

“So,” I reached down and grabbed a handful of canvas backpack, already having made up my mind and not caring about the answer “can I go now?”

“Well,” she straightened up some things on her desk before muttering ‘fuck it,’ and dumping things on the floor, “My inputs not going to change your mind is it?”

“Nope,” I stood up and shot a smirk in Crowley’s direction, “See ya later, boss man.”

“Wait,” Crowley stood in front of me, blocking any way I had out of the office, considering daddy dearest was leaned against Kelly’s desk with his hands in his pockets on my other side. “That’s it.”

“That’s it,” Kelly snapped back, clearly as done with Crowley as the rest of us were.

“No punishment, no... N-no justice?” He seemed absolutely perplexed.

“When has punishment or justice ever worked on Sarah,” she angrily clicked on her computer.

Kelly was in a bad mood today, and Crowley just seemed to be making it worse, which made me grateful that she had another person to direct her anger towards other than me.

“Only when I dish it out,” I responded, purposefully interrupting whatever it was that Crowley was about to say. Don’t get me wrong, I had an uncanny ability to spot liars and an impressive sense of right and wrong, I just ignored it most of the time.

“That’s not fair,”Crowley threw his hands to his sides and looked like a two year old throwing a tantrum.

“Welcome to the real world Crowley.” Kelly’s voice came from under her desk, where she resurfaced with some migraine pills.

“You make a better door than you do a man Crowley,” I heard a chuckle-snort-choke combo from behind me, and Crowley was so stunned by the whole situation that he moved a step over, just enough for me to almost knock him over on my way out of the office.

I left in high spirits as the end-of-lunch-bell rang, my annoyance peaking slightly, and a flood of students crowded the hallways and the courtyard, where I currently was. My good mood, good being relative, only lasted so long though, as soon enough the goonies managed to catch up with me. I really couldn’t get rid of team do-good, now could I?

“That was some great sass back there,” Dean said as he pulled up next to me, adjusting his waistline in what he probably thought was an authoritative way, but just made him look constipated.

“I try,” I responded, sliding my aviators onto my face, and blocking his out slightly.

“You should respect your elders though,” was his follow-up.

“You know I would,” we turned the corner and the parking lot was in sight, my baby shining bright and proud with her new paint job in the first row, I ignored the crowd gathered by her, they were no doubt gawking at her beauty, “Except my father never really taught me about respect.” Yeah it was a low blow, but I didn’t owe him anything, not even politeness after he threw me to the wolves like that. “Oh wait,” I turned on him, “he wasn’t there.”

“Look, it’s not my fault,” he looked away to hide the flash of guilt and pain in his eyes, and when he looked back there was no trace it was even there, gone so quick I wondered if I was imagining things “I didn’t even know.”

“You should be nicer to your father Sarah,” The stiff remark came from Cas.

“What are you guys doing here anyways,” I asked, ignoring Cas’ remark as well as the oncoming heart-to-heart. Those were messy.

Dean was just about to answer when there was a metallic screech of horror off in the distance. I snapped my head in the direction of the horrific noise, hoping it didn't belong to my baby, only to have my hopes shattered. Standing there next to Jesse was the starting quarterback, his eye swollen as he drug a key down the side of my prized possession, staring me down as he scarred the paint I had worked so hard on.

“Son of a bitch,” I growled, storming off to go beat all-american into a pulp.

I felt a hand on my arm restrain me, and when I looked back I saw uncle moose form the words “It’s not worth it, Sarah.”

“The hell it’s not, Sammy,” Dean and I both fumed, Dean adding the Sammy part and continuing as he bat the hand away that was holding me back, “Give ‘em hell.”

I turned around and stormed to my car, staring the sorry bastard down the entire time, I was about halfway to Jes when the quarterback took off out of fear, leaving me to inspect the damage he had inflicted, I was still fully prepared to kick his ass in.

What I saw when I got there, though, stopped me dead in my tracks. I wasn’t able to process anything but the words staring back at me from the hood of my beautiful ‘71 classic. I ripped my phone out of my pocket and furiously typed in the familiar number, tears threatening at my eyes.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice rang back at me through the static filter of a phone call.

“Are you working today,” my voice could have been a growl, I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t think past the words scratched into the hood of my car, bringing up memories of the past that I had to throw away before they destroyed my present.

Something in my voice must have tipped him off, but maybe it was just the fact that I had forgotten he was working that did it, “Yeah what’s wrong.” Not what’s up, what's wrong. Nobody but Tommy ever asked me that.

“Someone keyed my car,” that was all I could come up with. How was I supposed to tell him that my car now bore the same words that I did under my arm, that my car was now as ugly as I was.

“No way,” he sounded as scandalized as I did completely defeated, “You just painted it too, didn’t you.”

“Yeah,” I responded as the words ‘worthless bitch’ stood stark and carved against the black paint, along with the makeshift pinstripes on either side. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.” I refused to talk about what was in front of me and the past behind it, regardless if the QB knew about it or not. Everything melted away for me, the three idiots lumbering towards me no longer mattered, the fact that I finally knew who my father was no longer mattered. All that mattered was getting to the shop and removing those words.

“Wait, you’re going to come touch it up now,” he had me on speaker, I could hear the buzz of the sander beside the phone. A grounding static.

“It’s bad,” I responded as I managed to translate to my feet that they needed to get me into my car and down to the shop.

“How bad,” he seemed distracted. Good.

“Bad,” I clicked off as found myself in my car, finally, before I tore out of the parking lot, headed to rid my baby of her burden, wondering how it was possible that scars and memories from my past could be known now, wondering how the pain from my past could come back and haunt me like this. It was over, that meant it shouldn't matter anymore, shouldn't hold any power over me. It was probably a statement almost anybody and everybody applied to me at one point or another, but I never thought I would have to go through it again in the waking daylight rather than in the dark cover of night where terrors plagued whatever sleep I was lucky to get, they were just words. As I drove through the streets I fought a losing battle against the tears that blurred my vision. I was worthless, disposable, and broken, and try as I might to hide it with my concrete shell and attitude, the mess was still there, and I had been ignoring it for too long. This whole mess with Dean just reminded me of exactly how true all of that was. I wiped the tears away, pulled into the garage and shoved my feelings aside. Just because I was broken and had scars didn’t mean my car had to have matching ones too. I threw myself into sanding with a fury, not wanting anybody to see what was carved into the hood, but of course Tommy did.

Of course Tommy saw what was disgracefully carved into the hood of my baby, and of course he asked questions about it.

“Who did this,” was the first question out of his mouth. I hadn’t even bothered to pull fully into the garage, I just ran in, shrugged into my coveralls, and grabbed a sander on my way back out.

“Doesn’t matter,” I responded, comforting the sander across Jesse's wounds, assuring her that I could take away her scars, even if I couldn’t take away my own.

I guess he decided trying to figure out who it was wasn’t worth it, since the next words out of his mouth were, “Man, that really sucks though.” The fury hadn’t left his voice, though. Even though Tommy didn’t know the story behind the words, he did know it was a shit thing to do.

“Tell me about it,” I moved the sander back and forth, so eager to get the paint off the hood that I didn’t even check what grain sandpaper I was using. I turned the sander off and took a step back, looking at the damage I still had to repair. “I’ll probably be here for the next few days,” my eyes roamed over the hood that had made slight improvements in the removal of paint, to the sides of the car that looked as if Paul Bunyan himself had drug his axe down my baby.

“They kicked out your tail light too,” In my moping I had ignored that Tommy had moved to the back of my car, hadn’t taken it into account that anything else was wrong as I stared at the words that mocked me, my past threatening to destroy me.

“What,” I followed the line of metal shining sharp against the black, and my stomach turned at the sight. Sure enough I found the treachery of the high school football team, and before I even thought about it the words “I’m going to fucking kill him,” left my mouth.

“Who,” I ignored Tommy, like I usually do when I’m upset; not that I specifically ignore Tommy whenever I’m upset, just people in general. I tend to draw into myself and live there until whatever it is passes, and it’s been the single thing that has ensured my survival until now. Taking note of my silence Tommy continued with a sigh, “Look, I get that you don’t want to tell me who did this, and that’s fine, but you really should sue them for destruction of property.”

“Yeah,” I picked the sander back up and ground away with a fury to rival God’s, “Because in a court of law they would believe me over the All-American football player.”

“Joey did this,” his voice held a note of surprise, like he expected his former team mates to be golden haired angels.

“Sure,” it was, in fact Joey, but I didn’t really want to talk about it, my attentions focused on scrubbing the hateful words from existence.

“Wow,” he had joined me back by the hood of Jesse and ran his hand along the word ‘worthless’ as he continued, “You know they’re just words, right?” Except they weren’t just words, they were a past that no one knew about. “He’s just angry, and he took it out on somethin’ that was important to you,” It’s funny, because Alistair did the same thing. He cut me to bits because he could, until I lost all sense of self worth and hope, just because he was mad and he could. They were all the same. “Shit happens. you can fix this,” I knew Tommy’s words were meant to be comforting and reassuring, he did that when he was trying to be helpful and reassuring, the whole babbling thing. Thing is, though, he just kept making it worse, whether he meant to or not. “It doesn’t mean anythin’, okay.” And it didn’t. Those words were just words, to him, he didn’t know they were my past. He didn’t know how they haunted me.

“Yeah,” Thats all I could muster up in response. One simple yeah as the sander buzzed back to life, numbing my hands. Tommy must have sensed he wasn’t helping and thankfully left to go fix cars or act like he was working. Tommy’s words replayed themselves as I moved my hands back and forth and back and forth into a comforting rhythm as my past came back to haunt me and drown out the present as it so often did at night.

The buzzing of the sander grounded me in the present as memories of my two years in Alistairs lair flashed to life in living color before my eyes. Alistair had this game he liked to play where he would tie me to a metal table, like one you would find in a hospital. The game consisted of tying me down naked, and teaching me “lessons” as Alistair liked to call them. First, he took his knife and carved “worthless bitch” into my arm, keeping me tied to a table with leather straps that bore foreign symbols, the first lesson of many. That was the first cut he made, and the scar is still discernible today, looking as fresh as the one on my forearm which I got a month ago “falling through a glass door” at the Wilsons. I lost count of how many times he strapped me to that table and took out his frustration on me, creating shining web lattices all over my body which would shine for years and never fade, making me a lacework human. Along with the words worthless bitch I had also collected “unwanted” on my thigh, “unloved” on my calf, “forgotten”on my back, “disposable” on my ribcage and “selfish” on the bottom of my foot. As he carved these words into my flesh he would tell me stories about why he had chosen these words saying I was all of these things for reasons I ignored. I dreamed of finding someone to care for me, I dreamed of days when it would get better, when someone would hold me and tell me it was ok, when someone would love me, and that is why Alistair broke me. But no one ever came to my rescue and I listened to the only person willing to teach me anything, and with each word he carved into me, he repeated the lesson, made me repeat it back to him as he sliced thin lines in various parts of my body until the original word stopped bleeding, then one a day until it healed, leaving me to rot on the table until I stopped bleeding. Despite the fact that he carved me like select cuts, at least he made sure the wound didn’t fester, pouring rubbing alcohol over my wounds like water, making me scream out in agony. But at least they never got infected. But I realized in his dungeon that all of his lessons were true, and I realized the only things worth learning came from Pain and suffering, that the world held no love for me. I realized I am a worthless bitch. I am unwanted, unloved, forgotten, disposable and selfish. I always was, and I always would be.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and when I came back to the present I noticed that I had been absentmindedly sanding for so long that the hood was clear, and night had fallen. “ Do you wanna spend the next few days at my place?” The voice and hand both belonged to Tommy.

I wiped my black dust covered hands across my face, feeling the not-so-comfortable grainy scratch of paint specks as they mixed with the salty tears on my face. I nodded and, with some help from the guys, pushed my car behind the garage’s iron curtain door, not wanting to start it up until it was shining, hopped in Tommy’s truck, and for the first time since Alistairs dungeon sunk into the self loathing that had been beaten into me since birth, literally.


	6. Authors note

Hey guys, so I know I've been absent, and I apologize profusely! I just wanted to let you guys know that I have not abandoned this work, I'm still planning on writing it to completion. However, I don't exactly like where this story is going as of right now, so I was planning a whole story revamp. I was going to make it a three part story with the chapters each being part one part two and part three respectively. I feel like that will give the story an over all better flow as well as fix some gaping plot holes I hadn't completely thought out when I started writing this story. So thats whats to look out for with this story, and as soon as it's up I'll let you guys know! Look for it in the next few months! love you guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you guys like this! Enjoy your stay and let me know what you think!


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